


En Pointe

by SimplySydney



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Ballet AU, F/M, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, M/M, ballet is hard to write, historical politicians as composers lol, this is one of the weirder things i've written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplySydney/pseuds/SimplySydney
Summary: Alexander Hamilton knows where he belongs: New York, with stage lights bright against his face, his best friend Eliza at his side, and an orchestra in the pit below him. He was born to dance. To him, everything else is just filler, background. He's the star.





	En Pointe

One hand held the barre as the other hand stretched up, up and over Alexander’s head. Carefully, he turned his head to watch his hand fall down, down, down as his legs bent into a deep plie.

“Lift with the hips, Alexander.” Mrs. Washington called over the music. Alex turned his head back towards the front as he entered the next move, catching eyes with the boy in front of him who passed him a wink.

“Focus, please, John.” Mr. Washington said from the other side of the room. John turned his head back towards the front. Alex narrowed back in on the piano playing from the surround sound. He took the cool-down time to really cool down before pointe class.

As the piano faded out and their cool-down ended, the class all quickly spread to the edges of the room. Alex followed out towards the edge, taking a big glug out of his water bottle. He took his seat next to Eliza, who was rolling her ankles out as she checked her phone.

“Do you need a ride home?” She asked him, eyes still pointed downwards.

“I can walk, you don’t take pointe.” Alex pulled his shoes off as he spoke.

“I know, I reserved the practice studio to work on some improv stuff.”

“Oh?” Alex asks. Eliza shrugs. “Then yes, I would love a ride home.” The older pointe class was the last class at the studio that night. It bored Alex to death most of the time, after dancing for as long as he had it was nauseating to think about going “back to basics”, even if he knew he had skills to build. His feet already ached; motivation for anymore ballet was low.

Alex could have graduated from high school that year, as he had enough credits that he only needed one more year to get his diploma. He thought about it for awhile, but instead he decided to split his workload over the next two years so that he’d have more time to dance. Now, Alexander would go to school and be out by eleven on most days.

“Hey, did my turn at the end of our ensemble go okay?” Alex was referring to a piece he’d set for him and two of the other dancers at the studio. Alex choreographed the turn, but he still felt like John knew how to dance it better. “I feel like I’m so lanky that it looks bad.”

“It looked fine.” Eliza opens her lunchbox to grab a baggie of carrot sticks. “You dance with the grace of a doe, Alex.” She chides as she walks to the doorway of the studio to eat. 

“I don’t  _ feel  _ graceful.” Alex starts to prepare for pointe class, slipping on his toe pads.

“You’re plenty graceful. You just feel less graceful because you’re so lanky.” Eliza walks back over to grab a tupperware container of hummus and then walks back to the doorway. She continues to munch on the carrots while Alex sighs and keeps getting ready. Their chatter continues for a few minutes until the students of the pointe class have to use the door, forcing Eliza to put her snack away and grab her bags from the cubby on the wall. 

“I’ll be next door working.” She smiles at Alex and unzips the front of her duffel bag to pull out an aux cord. “Hopefully I’ll have something to work with for the new Adams piece.” She disappears out the door and around the corner. Alex  _ loved _ the new Adams pieces. John Adams was still rather unknown, a close friend of someone the Washingtons knew, but his music made Alex want to dance.

Alex stretched against the barres in the middle of the room that two of the other students had set up. Alex usually tried to help set up their studio for rehearsal, but he had lost track of time today. There were six other dancers in the class, four girls and two other guys. The girls were all good, good enough to be in Pointe Method, at least, but they’d all been late to join ballet and didn’t get to start dancing en pointe at twelve like so many of the other dancers Alex worked with. The guys were good, too, but none of them really compared to Alex or John. They missed classes sometimes, or sat out.

Mrs. Washington had told Alex she knew they had heart, though, so he gave them the benefit of the doubt. The only reason the studio had so many guys dancing on point there was their coach’s affinity for new, contemporary composers. The studio had done  _ Selections from The Nutcracker  _ once, many Christmases ago, and the Washingtons still thought of it as one of their biggest mistakes. Mrs. Washington had only told him the story once, when Alex had been sitting in Mrs. Washington’s office early in the afternoon right before he started practicing. He’d do this every so often if he knew his teacher wouldn’t be too stressed. He’d made the mistake a few times of coming in during a high energy week and getting slammed with some paperwork to file or some coffee mugs to go wash in the kitchen or something. 

Usually, though, he knew how to time his visits and could get some good conversation out of Mrs. Washington. That’s how he knew about John and his story, and about the solo Eliza was going to get at the next recital.

It wasn’t even so much that Mrs. Washington kept secrets from the studio, it was more of just her being a very busy lady and having very little time to tell her students about things of little importance. On a light week, she was teaching ten classes and doing individual lessons for a few students, on top of running the business and (by God’s good grace) being married to her husband. Alex hated Pointe Method, sure, but he didn’t doubt that it was hell for his teacher, too.

“Welcome class, good to see you’ve all made it today!” Mrs. Washington entered the room quickly. Alex glanced at the clock. She was right on time. “I trust all of you have stretched out. Let’s get started with some warmups.”

Mrs. Washington led the class through two sets of warmups, taking the time to critique forms and to shout out suggestions during the second set. Then, as far as class went, it seemed to be a pretty easy one. About a third of the way through the hour, she sent all seven of them against the wall to sit.

“As you all know, in preparation for our winter show, I’ve requested you all work out a short little piece to show us. Those of you who are comfortable can go in the second class studio to show either me or my husband your piece, and we’ll give you some pointers on both technique and your choreography. The rest of you are free to stay here to get some of your own practice or to leave.” As Mrs. Washington finished, one of the girls stood up and exited out to their locker rooms around the corner. Mrs. Washington smiled at the six of them that remained. “Any takers?”

One of the other girls shyly raised her hand and she and Mrs. Washington exited out to the other room. Alex leaned back against the wall of the studio, taking a sip out of his water. He was still deciding whether or not he wanted any critiques. He didn’t want to leave yet, Eliza wanted to get some work done and he didn’t want to force her out early, but he also wasn’t exactly in the mood for a lot of work.

“Hey, Alex. Do you wanna dance through our ensemble piece with me?” Alex looked up to see James Madison standing before him, phone in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Without John?” Alex asked, knitting his brows together. “It’d be hard to get our spacing right.”

“We can dance it in place, then.” Alex was about to protest, but James had already walked over to the stereo to connect his phone. He rose to his feet as the music began. 

“Can someone count for us?” James called to the remaining students. Piano faded into the room, followed by strings, and then horns. Alex and James stood next to each other, counting along with a couple of the other people left in the studio with them, waiting for the end of John’s entrance. At the first big hit of the piece, Alex took a few smaller steps forward from the wall and danced, focusing on his technique for once rather than on scurrying around the room.

His thoughts danced with him, reminding him to keep his stomach against his back, to tighten his ass, to extend further, smile towards the mirror, to do this, to do that. Soon, James joins in with him, dancing in sync with Alex, smile on his face. Alex knew that there were just as many things going through his brain as there were through Alex’s. Soon, they reach the section where they each have a solo for a few measures. Alex mimes walking across the stage, taking tiny yet exaggerated steps within his own little bubble. Laughter rises from the side of the room as James joins him in the funny way of “walking”. Alex glances at himself and James in the mirror and does the same, beginning to crack up as he attempts to continue counting.

James laughter rises too as John’s section continues. Alexander continues the dance with a true smile on the face, rising out of his fake walking to dance the transition into his solo. The laughter dies down now that he and James are both dancing, with only a few giggles when James goes back to his fake walking. Alex rises onto his toes, extending his leg out with precision as he moves. 

The music rises again and James is once again dancing as well. Alex takes a moment to imagine the bright lights of the stage laid out before him when they unveil this piece. He loves the feeling of dancing. Not rehearsing or practicing, just dancing. John always means well, but it’s different when he’s there. They focus less on having fun and showing their skills and more on just showing off their skills. Right now, in the rehearsal studio, this is just dancing.

The music fades out and Alexander hits their final pose. Light applause fills the room. Jame’s hand enters Alex’s vision, offering a high five. 

“Great job, boys!” Both Washingtons are standing in the corner of the room. Neither he nor James had noticed them entering. 

“You’ve really taken to pointe, Alexander.” George Washington nods to Alex, who thanks him. “Try to keep your chest open, though. You too, James. You were both good about fixing it when you noticed, but it’s better to fix those kinds of things before they even become problems. Alright?”

Both boys nod. James walks to collect his phone from the stereo. Their piece had already begun to replay over the speakers.

“Man, fuck pointe,” says James. “Those two are gonna have us in tutus doing female variations next.”

“Maybe,” Alex laughs. “I doubt it, though. How much longer are you staying?” 

“I’ll probably try to get a critique, I guess. I have an early audition time and  _ some  _ of us don’t get to spend all day rehearsing like you do.” Alex turns red and starts to stammer an apology or, just,  _ something, _ but James cuts him off. “I’m just messing with you, man. Don’t worry about it.”

Alex laughs as James walks over to Mrs. Washington. There’s still twenty minutes left of class, but whatever, he does have all day to rehearse tomorrow and he has homework he has to get done. He walks to the other side of the room with his bag and carefully unties the ribbons around his ankles. He stretches his toes as he pulls off his pointe shoes, tucking them carefully into his bag and pulling on a pair of socks.

He sips his water as he exits through the locker room to the hallway, holding a pair of slip-on Vans in his hand. The window at the end of the hallway shows him it’s dark outside by now. He hears the new Adams piece playing from the practice studio as he approaches. He looks in the window, expecting to see Eliza flying through the ai, and instead sees her standing in the center of the room, unmoving.

He’s not sure if it’s part of her improv or if she’s just thinking really hard, but either way, he decided that now is not the time to interrupt. He walks down the hallway and into the common room of the studio. He glances towards the fridge and instead decides to cook at home. He puts his bag down in front of the couch and sits. He’d love to be laying down, but he’s incredibly sweaty and doesn’t think the couch deserves to deal with all of that.

He entertains himself with his phone, scrolling through all of the days happening and news and memes. He responds to his snapchat streaks, checks his email, and briefly considers looking at Facebook before deciding against it. He’s busy, sure, almost all day every day it seems, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t let himself be a teenager. As he scrolls, a notification pops up.

**_annG: party tomorrow? it’s a Friday :p_ **

He sighs.

**_ahamsammich: my house isn’t even clean from our last party bro_ **

**** **** **_annG: pls? we’ll do it at ours. dad is taking margaret on a camping trip_ **

**** ****

**** **** **_ahamsammich: ??????_ **

****

**** **** **_annG: girl scouts. it’s whatever. see you at school, and then at 8 :)_ **

Eliza’s sisters didn’t dance, but Alex was just as close with them as he was with her. The Schuyler’s were Alex’s real family. Angelica, Eliza, and Margaret were some of the closest friends he had, and Eliza wasn’t a bad dance partner either.

Behind him, laughter rises as someone enters the common room.

“Oh, hey, Alex.” Alex turns to see John and Eliza entering.

“Oh, hey,” Alex responds. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“We were just working on some improv together.” John says, smiling. Eliza stops scooping protein powder into her shaker bottle and grimaces. “I’m heading out now, though. I’ll see you guys later.”

Alex blinks slowly as John leaves, pulling his car keys out of the side pocket of his bag. Silence hangs between Alex and Eliza, the only noise being the jingle of keys and John’s whistling as he walks down the hallway.

“You should buy a car.” Eliza tells Alex, shaking up her protein powder into her water. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem I wanna focus on right now.” Alex and Eliza both pick up their things from the room. Alex tosses his shoes to the floor and shoves his feet inside while they walk down the stairs of the studio, down another hallway, and into the parking lot.

They’re halfway to Alex’s house before either of them speak. Alex doesn’t know why he’s so angry, it’s not like he doesn’t dance with other people, too. The only difference is that he doesn’t dance with other girls.

“I don’t see why it’s a big deal,” Eliza begins speaking as she comes to a red light. “I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I don’t know why you’re upset. Do you have a reason or do you just like being mad?”

“I don’t need a reason,” Alex argues. “The look you gave me when he told me was enough. I don’t have to have a reason because you feel bad anyway.”

“That’s dumb.” Alex doesn’t respond after she speaks. Eliza lets their words finish floating around the car. Alex lived minutes from the studio anyway, he’d be gone soon enough.

By the time they’d arrived at his house, Eliza was ready to speak again. Alex grabbed his bags and opened the door before the car had even come to a stop. 

“Do you want me to walk you inside?” Eliza asked, already knowing the answer even before he turned around to glare at her.

“No.” Eliza opened her mouth to speak. Alex got there first. “And before you try to apologize, I do have a reason to be mad. I know I may suck. I might be an ass sometimes, but I’m honest. You and John, on the other hand, are not, and that’s scary! We have plans, Eliza, you know?”

“I know.” Eliza whispers.

“All I want is for things to be okay. That’s it! I just want to make it through this season and through high school and I want things to be okay.” Alex restrains himself from shouting.

“Alex, please just let me-” 

“Let you what? Explain? What’s there to explain anymore?” Eliza opens the car door and gets out as Alex speaks. She turns, staring at him over the roof of the Camry.

“Yes, let me explain.” She does her best to remain calm despite Alex’s efforts to escalate their conversation. “We don’t have to be so focused and working so hard all the time. We’re allowed to have fun. If I want to do improv with John once a week, I can. You’re not the police, and you definitely don’t have the right to police me, Alex. I’m my own person. It’s not like anybody watches me do improv. It’s not like doing one duet with John will kill our dreams, Alex. This is one thing that’s for me. That’s all I want, that’s it. This one thing.”

Alexander knows she’s right. He’s not an idiot. He just didn’t think this would get this far. He didn’t want this to be a thing, but he hates losing. He seethes, pressing his tongue hard against his teeth.

“Fine,” he begins. “You can have this ‘one thing’. Dance the new Adams piece with John. Hell, dance the whole suite with him. See if I care!” And with that, he slams the car door shut and walks up his driveway, into the garage, and then into his house, leaving Eliza to stand there with her mouth open, watching as the garage door closes behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> hi  
> 1.) ik men don't usually dance on pointe, welcome to the world of suspending ur disbelief  
> 2.) this chapter is actually a rewrite of an old fic i've posted here by the same but then orphaned because i hated it  
> 3.) it's unedited i'm sorry
> 
> anyway thank you for reading!! i appreciate it and i hope you'll stick around for more <3


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